


The Family You Have Here

by DragonHeartstring360



Series: Supernatural Imagines [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Mention of abusive family, Multi, Non-descript reader, Self-Depricating Thoughts, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 16:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21664477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonHeartstring360/pseuds/DragonHeartstring360
Summary: When your shitty family ruins your Thanksgiving, Dean takes matters into his own hands.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean Winchester/You
Series: Supernatural Imagines [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/897234
Comments: 4
Kudos: 62





	The Family You Have Here

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of abusive family, mentions of abusive comments, self deprecating thoughts, crying.   
Although I hope everyone is having a fantastic holiday season, I know the holidays can be hard for people who don't get along with their families (me included). I thought we all could use some comfort from Dean Winchester to feel better. Thanks for the read! Comments/kudos are greatly appreciated. You can follow me on tumblr @were-all-idjits-here for updates and requests.

You sighed and slid to the floor as your door clicked shut behind you. Biting your lip, you let your head fall back against the hard wood with a dull _thud_. Although most people loved the holidays, you hated them for a very specific reason: your family. Not the one you’d created with the Winchesters and their friends; the one that was biologically related to you. Growing up in Sioux Falls, you’d always had Bobby’s place to run to when things got rough. He’d been a friend of your uncle’s, who was estranged from the family. Once you’d connected with him, you’d realized the only reason he was estranged in the first place was because he was much saner than the rest of your family. It was a shame a ghoul had done him in years ago. You just hoped both he and Bobby were in a better place now.

Your phone vibrated next to you, making a rattling sound on the wood of your bedroom floor in the bunker. You jumped at the noise and looked to see a new message from Sam: _Still hunting?_

_No,_ you typed. _Just got back. Heading to bed now. _

_At 7pm?_ Sam asked. You ignored it. You hadn’t actually been hunting, you’d been with your family for Thanksgiving dinner. The reason you didn’t tell the brothers was because you knew they would’ve given you a lecture about it. Neither of them liked your family and had even gone so far as to call them abusive. Sam had mentioned narcissistic personality disorder multiple times while describing your mother. Especially since the two of you had gone to Stanford together for a little while and he’d met them multiple times. Dean had only met them once when there had been a hunt in your hometown, but that was enough for him to decide your mom was “a douche” and your dad was only enabling her. However, you still wanted a relationship with your dad and as much as he worshipped your mom, it was either cut both of them off or cut neither of them off. You tried to stay as low contact with your mom as possible, but it was hard. For so long, she’d been your entire social life, since she didn’t really allow you to have many relationships outside of her. The few you developed were either from school when she wasn’t around, or when you snuck out. It was especially hard to believe her behavior wasn’t normal, or that the horrible things she’d said to you weren’t true, when she’d been the only voice in your ear for nearly two decades. She had trained you to need her, but never to rely on her. Hence why you’d felt obligated to show up to family Thanksgiving. Now sitting on your bedroom floor completely drained of both feeling and tears, you’d wished you hadn’t.

* * *

Your stomach growled and you groaned. Your anxiety had been so bad the entire time, it had given you an upset stomach. You’d barely eaten anything in the last few days, since eating while your stomach was churning was never a good idea. Deciding you should at least have a nice hot shower and maybe something light, like crackers, you hauled yourself up off your floor, grabbed your bathroom things, and headed to the showers.

You’d thought you were drained of all possible tears, but you were wrong. It had been impossible to tell which was the water from the shower on your face and which was the tears. Your stomach continued to twist in knots and your anxiety was now so bad that you’d had to make a run for the toilet about every fifteen minutes. Why must your bowels betray you now, too?

You were starving, but nothing sounded good except maybe some applesauce and crackers. At least you felt nice and clean as you shuffled your way into the kitchen, sniffling and rubbing your tired eyes, wearing your comfiest pair of PJs with the hood up over your head like a hug. You could definitely use one of those right now, but both of the boys’ doors had been shut and you didn’t want to bother them. They rarely got a day off, much less the full week they’d been taking—and never on a holiday. You doubted they’d really celebrated Thanksgiving the way most people did, but you still wanted to make sure they had their downtime. Besides, you bothered them enough whenever you needed something—which seemed like a lot.

You sighed as you pulled out the jug of applesauce you kept in the fridge, grabbing a spoon and just eating directly out of the jug. You plopped down on the island stool with your water bottle and closed your eyes, swinging your feet as you did so—at least, until your foot bumped into a lump.

“_Ow_,” a gravelly voice mumbled beneath you. Your eyes shot open to see Dean Winchester sitting on the floor next to your feet. “Why are you kicking me?”

“Why are you on the floor?” you asked around a mouthful of food.

“It’s a free bunker.” He hauled himself to his feet using the bar stool next to you, groaning all the while.

“Old man,” you mumbled.

“Whatever. You ain’t that much younger than me, kid.”

“Then why do you still call me _kid_?”

“’Cause…free bunker,” he muttered, plopping down next to you with a sigh, his beer bottle clunking on the table.

You snorted and shook your head, just enjoying his company. Although you’d had a crush on him since you were a teenager, you knew the type he went for. Ever since you’d joined them on hunts years ago, you’d had to watch him go after numerous women in bars who looked nothing like you. Attractive, for example. Your mom constantly reminded you every time she saw you how you needed to “lose weight.” Although you and Dean had become practically inseparable over the years—eating burgers together, watching dumb horror movies and rocking out to Metallica in the Impala—there was no way he saw you as anything more. If he had, he would’ve said something, right? Either way, you would take whatever affection from him you could get, even if it was just platonic.

“You feeling okay, kid?”

You nodded. “Just a little queasy.”

It was quiet for a moment before Dean finally said, “You weren’t really on a hunt, were you?”

You finally looked over at him. You were about to deny it, but one look in his probing green eyes told you there would be no getting away with it. “I’m really not in the mood for a lecture right now, Dean.”

He held his hands up in a surrendering position. “I wasn’t gonna lecture you. I just want you to feel like you can come to me with this stuff.”

“How’d you find out?”

“Guess your mom was having trouble getting a hold of you, so she called Sam ’cause she knows you two still talk.”

You sighed and closed your eyes, pushing the applesauce away from you. “Why did he pick up?”

“He got that new phone last month and didn’t transfer her number, so I guess he didn’t know who it was. Thought it might be another hunter.”

You groaned. “I’m sorry he had to deal with her.”

“I don’t get why _you_ still deal with her.”

“Dean—”

“Listen, I’m not here to lecture you, okay? I’m just saying, I know you come home from being with them and feel like shit about yourself, and I don’t want you to feel like shit about yourself.”

You glanced over at him to see his face softer than you were used to.

“You’re pretty frickin’ awesome, kid.”

“I don’t know…”

“Well, I do. So does Sam and everybody else in our family. Jody and Donna love you like their own kid, Claire thinks you’re the best thing that happened, which is pretty high praise coming from her.” He paused. “I know I’m not so good at the whole talking about our feelings thing, but I’m here if you need anything.”

You swallowed. “What if…what if I’m just a crybaby and the stuff my family does is normal?”

“Trust me, kid, that ain’t normal. I’m an expert in not-normal, and your family definitely qualifies.”

You snorted, grabbing his beer and taking a mouthful.

“Hey!” he cried.

“Sharing is caring.”

“Okay, then, you won’t mind if I do this.” He stuck his tongue out and leaned towards your applesauce.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his face. “Back off, Winchester.”

He smiled. “There’s the smile.” He surprised you by reaching out and rubbing your back. “Glad to have you home, kid. If you need anything, you know where to find me.” He yawned, chugging the rest of his beer and heading towards the door. He ruffled your hair before making his way out of the kitchen, the beer bottle crashing against the others in the trash can on his way out.

* * *

It had been a few weeks since the disaster that was Thanksgiving dinner with your family. You tossed and turned in your bed fitfully as you thought about the text your mother had sent you just a few hours ago: _We want you to sleep over Christmas Eve, so we can all be together Christmas morning to open gifts like we used to when you were little_. When you asked if anyone else was sleeping over, she’d merely said she didn’t know, but if they didn’t, _we can always have some mother-child bonding time_. You shuddered at the thought.

Eventually, you fell asleep sometime around two in the morning. Not even an hour later, you bolted upright in bed, sweating and panting. You’d dreamed Sam and Dean had finally had enough of you and kicked you out of the bunker. Before you’d even been able to blink, Castiel had transported you and your belongings to your parents’ house, where your mom hadn’t even given you space to breathe. When you tried to explain you just wanted to be alone for a little while to grieve your relationship with the Winchesters, she’d gone off on you, even going so far as to chain you to the kitchen table leg while laughing maniacally. You’d tried to call out to your dad for help, but he just shrugged, saying he didn’t see what was abnormal about the situation and how you should be more “grateful” to your mother.

You clutched the blanket beneath you and frantically looked around your room. You were in the bunker with the Winchesters, and you were safe.

Before you even realized what you were doing, you found your feet carrying you to Dean’s bedroom door. You hesitated. It was three in the morning. Dean needed all the sleep he could get. However, something in you pulled you to slowly crack his door and peek through. The light from the hallway shone on his sleeping face. His mouth ajar with soft snores pouring out, his hair sticking every which way and his long lashes brushing his cheek made it hard for you to pull yourself away. He stirred and frowned before rolling over away from the light. You quickly backed out of the doorway, closing it shut behind you quietly.

You fell against the wall, hiding your face in your hands as you took a shaky breath. You were enough of a burden. You didn’t need to give them a reason to _really_ kick you out. You loved Sam and Cas like brothers and Dean…after years hunting with him, you’d come to really be _in _love with him. You couldn’t ruin things by letting your heart get in the way of your head. He wouldn’t feel the same, things would get awkward and then you really _would_ have to leave the bunker—

“Y/N?”

You jumped, looking up to meet Dean’s eyes. You hadn’t even heard him come out of his room. He looked even more adorable as he rubbed some sleep from his eye, his hair full hedgehog-mode, making your heart ache even more. You couldn’t help but glance down at the way his boxers hugged his hips, butt and…other things. You quickly looked away, sniffling as something wet ran down your nose. You hadn’t even realized you’d been crying.

Before you could reach up to wipe them away, Dean gently turned you to face him. His hands rose, hesitating in midair as he stared at you. You were surprised by the slight fear you saw there. When you made no move to pull away, the rough pads of his thumbs gently wiped the tears from your cheeks. You bit your lip as you felt more tears forming before collapsing against his chest. You hugged his middle tightly as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you close and burying his face in your hair. After a few minutes, you felt his fingers gently massaging your head, his fingers carding through the soft strands. You melted against him.

You stayed like that for several more minutes before he pulled away, his hand gently running down your arm to grab your hand. “Come on,” he mumbled, tugging you gently towards his bed.

You paused next to his bed, feeling awkward as you watched him climb under the covers. He threw the covers next to him back and patted the empty side of the mattress. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

Your heart leaped at the nickname. It wasn’t like he’d never used it before, but this felt different. He was using it to _invite you into his bed_. But not like that, you told yourself, he’d never invite you in _like that_. You glanced at his open arms before quickly accepting the invitation, settling your head against his chest and falling into a peaceful sleep with his heartbeat thumping in your ear and a hand gently massaging your scalp.

* * *

A rough pounding on your door woke you up. You jolted awake, looking at the clock on your nightstand to see it read eight in the morning.

“Up and at ’em!” Dean’s voice called from the other side of the door. You smiled at the childlike excitement evident in his voice. With the support of the two brothers, you’d been able to find the strength to tell your mom that you wouldn’t be sleeping over for Christmas. Instead, the Winchesters had insisted they take the week off and you, the brothers and Cas would celebrate Christmas together. She’d thrown a fit about and tried to call you multiple times, eventually causing Sam to block her once she started calling him nonstop as well. You’d almost picked up multiple times, but Dean had been your rock throughout the entire situation. He’d rarely left your side the past few weeks and had slowly started becoming more physically affectionate, making you wonder if maybe he _did_ feel something for you. He always made you feel better, but the past few weeks, it had seemed like his mission to make you feel like you were on top of the world: buying all your favorite foods on supply runs, marathoning movies with you and even insisting you start spending the night in each other’s rooms more often. Although it was usually his room. Who could resist that memory foam mattress (and how everything smelled like him, but of course you didn’t tell him about that part)? One night that was particularly bad, Dean had even had a dance party with you in the kitchen—music provided by Metallica, of course.

You swung your legs out of bed and threw your bedroom door open as his knocking became more intense. He had a stupid grin plastered across his face that you couldn’t help but mirror. He was practically vibrating in excitement.

“Well, someone’s excited,” you laughed.

“You kiddin’? You know when the last time we actually celebrated Christmas was?”

Your smile became wider, if that was possible, as he grabbed your hand and tugged you towards the man-cave, which had apparently been decorated, but you’d been forbidden from stepping foot in there. Dean said he wanted it to be a surprise.

“Cas, we’re coming in!” Dean yelled before skidding to a halt with you in the doorway. His face fell and you burst out laughing at the scene in front of you. “Cas, when Sam suggested ‘simple banners,’ I don’t think this is what he meant…”

Cas tilted his head in confusion, still holding onto one of the many plain white banners with the words “Merry Christmas” typed on it in large Times New Roman font. Although it looked ridiculously out of place next to the lights hung up on the walls and the Christmas tree groaning with the weight of too many ornaments on its branches, a small model Impala on the top in lieu of a star, it was 100% Cas. “Is this not satisfactory?”

You tried to contain your laughter. Dean ran a hand down his face in frustration as you said, “No, it’s great, Cas.”

Sam appeared behind you with two mugs of coffee in his hand. “You’d think I’d remember how literal he takes everything by now.” He handed you and Dean the mugs before helping Cas hang the final few banners.

You sipped your coffee, your eyes growing wide as you noticed all the presents under the tree. You recognized the wrapping paper you had used for the gifts you purchased for the boys, but the pile with your name on it was a little bigger than you expected.

As everyone sat around laughing, talking and opening presents—and of course, roasting each other—you were in Heaven. This was the most stress-free Christmas you’d ever had. Sam had gotten you several books you’d been wanting to read, Cas had gotten you some cozy PJs and some more coffee mugs and thermoses, and now only the presents Dean had gotten for you lay unopened. There was an uncharacteristic shyness in Dean’s smile as he pushed them towards you. You gave him a reassuring smile back as you ripped the wrapping paper away.

He chuckled at your noise of excitement as you opened the bag of your favorite candy, shoving several in your mouth. The second present contained the complete box set of your favorite TV show. But the third was what really got to you: a small framed bulletin board full of pictures of you and the Winchesters. Pictures of you and Dean together dominated the board and the word “family” was written across the top and bottom of the frame.

You felt your eyes fill with tears and looked up to see Sam and Cas had disappeared, leaving you and Dean alone sitting by the Christmas tree. “Did you make this?”

Dean nodded. “I know your family kinda sucks, so I thought you could use a reminder that you’ve always got a family here with us. I know you don’t wanna go no-contact and if you never do, me, Sam and Cas will support you. But I just thought you could use a reminder that you’ve got a family who thinks you’re pretty damn awesome just the way you are, kid.”

You laughed. “Look at you, getting all chick flick-y.”

“Shut up,” he mumbled, his cheeks turning pink as he looked away.

You leaned over to hug him. “Seriously though, thank you. I love it.”

Dean pulled you as close to his chest as he possibly could. “You’re welcome, kid.” He adjusted his legs beneath you as he pulled you into his lap, burying his face in your hair. It had become your new way to hug.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, just enjoying the feeling of being in Dean’s arms, but a crash from the kitchen made you jump. Cas’s voice carried from the kitchen, “Sam, somehow I don’t think this is the customary way to make pancakes.”

Dean groaned and you giggled just as you turned your head to look at him. He turned his head at the same time and you froze as your lips brushed against his. The two of you stared at each other with wide eyes for a moment, and you couldn’t help glancing at his full lips. You yanked your eyes back up to meet Dean’s green orbs to find him staring at your lips as well. Wait, did he—

“Fuck it,” he mumbled before crashing his lips into yours.

You made a noise of surprise and tensed. If there was anything you were expecting from Christmas morning, it certainly wasn’t this. You were frozen in shock and after a minute, Dean tensed beneath you as well. Afraid he would misread the situation and pull away, you relaxed in Dean’s arms, your hand going to the back of his short hair and scratching his scalp with the blunt ends of your nails. He relaxed in turn and let his hands wander all over your body. You leaned into him, unsure how you’d enjoyed anyone else’s kisses up until now. You always knew Dean was a ladies’ man and was probably a good kisser, but now realized how your imagination paled in comparison. “You’re gorgeous,” he mumbled in between kisses.

Just as his tongue gently ran over your bottom lip as he pulled you impossibly closer, his hands making their way to cup your ass, Sam’s voice boomed behind you, “About damn time!”

You jumped and pulled away to see the younger Winchester with an annoyed but amused grin on his face in the doorway.

Dean cleared his throat, moving his hands back up to your hips. “A little privacy, Sammy?”

Sam’s face fell. “Um, so the pancakes kind of exploded…”

“_What?_” Dean cried as you howled with laughter. “How the hell do you make _pancakes explode_, Sam?!”

“Cas did it!”

“That is an inaccurate statement!” Cas yelled from the kitchen.

Tears leaked out of your eyes from laughter as Dean groaned and buried his face in your shoulder.

“I’ll just—go—clean things…” you heard Sam sprint back down the hallway.

Dean sighed. “All right, let’s go teach Dumb and Dumber how to cook without destroying the bunker.”

Before he could move, you rubbed your nails across the back of his neck one more time. He immediately relaxed at the action. “Dean, seriously, thank you.”

He smiled. “You just seemed to have such a shitty Thanksgiving, I wanted to make sure Christmas was awesome.”

“It was the best I’ve ever had.”

He kissed you again, leaning towards you as you started to pull away. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

You beamed. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”


End file.
